


too long a sacrifice

by descartes



Series: Sherlock Holmes AU [2]
Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Blackmail, M/M, Sherlock Holmes AU, unfinished work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-22 01:22:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1570751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/descartes/pseuds/descartes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a man visits dr archuleta's practice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	too long a sacrifice

**Author's Note:**

> from a comment thread with paitac over at bangingdavid@lj.

it is almost noon, and archie's practice has not yet been interrupted by cook/cook's explosive chemicals/cook's firearm, and so he is in a very good mood when he calls out for his next patient, rolling down his shirtsleeves as he does so.

the patient turns out to be a man in a shabby overcoat and well-trimmed side whiskers. archie motions him to sit, saying, "how are you today, my good man?" and is flustered when the man remains in his position by the door and replies, "i would prefer to stand, doctor, this visit will not be a long one."

"as you like," says archie, confused.

"you see, doctor, i have a problem that i would like to... consult you on. i have a friend, a pillar of his community and respected both as a man and as a practitioner of his art. however, i have observed that my friend, while perfectly ordinary, no, make that extraordinary in every way, has been keeping a rather worrying secret. i fear that he has succumbed to a rather undesirable vice."

archie's medical mind runs through the possibilities, each more dire than the last, but as cook has insisted time and time again, it won't do to make conjectures lacking even the simplest facts. "i see," he says, nodding encouragingly.

a brief smile flickers on the man's impassive face, and it makes something twist sharp and uncomfortable in archie's belly. "i must tell you, sir, that this revelation is quite shocking, even to the sensibilities of men as modern as us."

archie stifles his growing impatience -- sometimes he believes that his relative youth is more of a hindrance than a boon to his practice -- and says, "be assured, sir, that i have seen much and am not easily shocked."

the man reaches a hand into his overcoat -- archie flinches before he can stop himself, and the smile deepens -- and takes out a sheaf of papers neatly bound with string, which he tosses on the pristine surface of archie's desk and gestures for archie to take.

the writing on the uppermost sheet is enough for the blood on archie's cheeks to drain quite abruptly.

"where did you ---" he gasps out, and at the same time, the man says, "i wonder what mr. david cook will think if he find out that his companion is a criminal?"

archie stares at the man in horror, fancying that the shadows cast by the midmorning sunlight on the smiling face were deeper and more monstrous, because this is what it is; the man, the letters -- because they are letters, damning ones to dearest david, from a ghost that he'd long thought was buried -- and their purpose have crystallized in archie's mind.

"he wouldn't," comes his automatic protest, it dies on his lips, because strange and eccentric and unconventional cook may be, and uncaring of what he'd call the unimportant facets of human existence, cook respects and upholds the laws, and it is beyond hoping that in archie's lifetime the men of parliament will be forgiving. archie cannot bear the longed-for fondness to curdle in disgust at the revelation of his shameful inversion.

he looks down at the letters -- questions whirl through his head (how were these acquired? but right now their source is immaterial) and he wants nothing more than to cast them in the fireplace -- then returns his gaze to the man -- but no, he will have copies -- and the cane or the revolver are out of the question --

"what will you have me do?"

*

david sits in his office and listens dully to the sound of the downstairs clock at it tolls noon, each low note reminding him too much of the man's measured tread on the staircase after he leaves, the damning packet safely ensconced in the shabby overcoat.

funny that he doesn't even know the man's name, and yet he already has so much power over archie's life.

("my name is none of your concern, dr. archuleta. i will contact you when i need to. now, have i made myself clear?"

archie snaps before he control his unusually-uneven temper, "i am not a fool, sir," and even as he says the words, he recognizes them for the lie they are, because he has made himself one even before today, for the sake of the most brilliant private detective in london, and once, perhaps, for other men.)

unseeing, he reaches for his cane and levers himself up to his feet. the routine must be kept; the perils of living with genius is realizing that to him, what is not predictable is interesting and an object of study. archie shudders momentarily as he imagines himself as a butterfly pinned under cook's unforgiving gaze.


End file.
